An Elegant Universe
by FallenShateiel
Summary: Sometimes he wondered if his wife ever liked him. After all, most women were not swooned by him. They liked him because he was a stable choice. No obvious faults. - eventural preslash HP/PW, heavily influenced by Sartre's Nausea. A character study of an older divorced Percy, and his navigation through his not-so-perfect life. An Elegant Universe series.


28

**Everything Will Be OK (**_**But It Don't Always Work That Way**_**)**

The problem, Percy decided was that his ex-wife wasn't a politician's wife after all.

She didn't conform to the standards that Percy thought she would grow into. During the first few years she did hold promise, with her demure personality and ability to sympathize without_ really_ understanding the intricate that Percy's job entailed. She had a plain enough appearance with a conservative enough view that her suitability relied on that unimposing demeanour - the exact polar opposite of his mother.

Of course, something that was perfect for Percy wasn't truly perfect.

With the divorce, his daughters kept him on his toes with constant rebellions. The new beau of Audrey's didn't help with his wild adventures and relatively worldly manner. Not to mention he was younger than both of them and it showed.

Not that he didn't think that the separation was necessarily needed. It was just been meant to be a _trail separation_.

Listening to the constant pacing of his sister's husband only made the panic he was trying to hide worse.

It had been raging, deep in his chest. Only he'd concentrated on evening out his heartbeat and keeping the worst of it at bay. He once heard his sister-in-law explain that when a child is placed in a silent corner after a temper tantrum, they subconsciously focus on calming the breathing of their heart...

This was Harry's and his 'time-out'. Not that he was at all aware of doing anything bad... perhaps harassing Pucey down in Sports to crackdown on usage of unlicensed brooms – in conjunction to his last irritating encounter with his ex-wife's new beau...

Nevertheless, he continued to waste-time by concentrating on slowing his heartbeat.

"_Umph._" Harry grunts as he flops down beside him.

"Have you come up with an idea as to how this might've happened?" Percy asks, careful to sound casual.

"No idea, mate."

"None?"

"Nope."

_Great, what's the use of an auror who can't get you out of a single trapped ward?_

"Figure that it ain't some sort of coup though."

"Of course not. Why would a coup be set at an eleven year olds birthday party, whose attending family includes: one auror, one _former_ auror and two curse breakers?" He's tired, his headache is coming back, and his control is slipping away.

"Don't get testy, we're both stuck here." Harry sighs leaning forward with a hard stare at his wand.

Percy is _testy _though. More than testy, he's tired of the sixteen hours they've already spent in this place. There's a ward constraining them into an enclosure that is as big as the Burrow's kitchen, with no discernible walls. Greyly lit, there's no way to tell time, other the Muggle watch his father gifted him for Christmas years ago... The same one he only wears at family functions.

He doubts Harry can feel it.

This horrible presence in the middle of his chest, wanting, smashing against his ribcage to be let **out**. He's only felt like this three times in his life. Once when he was nineteen and felt that everything he'd worked for was lost. Twice when George hit him at their brother's funeral. Three times, when his youngest daughter Lucy screamed that she hated him.

"I wouldn't worry though. I think we haven't left the backyard, it seems like a Trepinate Spell. I remember dealing with something similar at one of those make-shift labs. 'member that? You guy's in the Minister's office gave Administration a beatin' haha..." Harry goes off more about the story, bellowing laughter.

Percy tunes him out. If he didn't he's not too sure that he could hold back screaming that Ron and Hermione's backyard was not a make shift lab. Nor did the Trepinate Spell have anything to do with _containment_ it _repelled_. No its better to not listen to Harry ramble on with a familiarity they've never had.

Audrey once said that she felt out of place with his younger brothers and sister. Something Percy could echo. When he was still in school, it was remarkably different. Though he supposes, it might be his own lingering guilt.

"The best we can do, is probably wait it out." Says Harry with a sigh. His chest sticking out as he leans comfortably back.

Percy nods, or at least thinks he nods. It's a hard thing to do with his head in his hands.

Harry finally stops talking and is ignoring Percy. Probably because he thinks that Percy is a busybody, and it stresses out any busybody not to have anything to busybody about.

It's been about nine hours since they've gotten stuck in this grey bubble. Though, Percy can't figure out how he knows that. After all the greyness doesn't clear, and the only thing that's really changed is that his heart has stopped pounding.

Now it's his stomach.

It feels like there's something weighing it down. Different then when he's not been eating, different than when he contracted Dragon Pox when the kids were young... No, it's like a sickness building in his stomach that not even an anti-nausea potion can help. Though if he had the means he would definitely drink some. Instead it's like his stomach is weighted down by a crudded cauldron.

In his teenage years, he mostly skipped the part of emotional turmoil. He could hardly say that he even felt anything like anxiety that plagued most of the other prefects. Instead, when finals came around he got unbelievably angry, not agitated. Even to himself he was frustrating. His mother liked to call him passionate.

As a doer, he should be the one pacing around, trying to figure out how to get out of this bubble. After all, his sister's husband may be an Auror, but _Percy_ is a _problem solver._

That what is making _**this**_ so hard.

He can't move, he can't think. All he can do is what he's been doing for the past four hours, which is to hold his head in his hands. He would move, shift around when the circulation of blood leaves his fingers and the middle of his torso hurts and his spine keeps screaming for him to sit up. Only for some reason he can't. Even when Harry sits closer to him, and tries to talk or engage him... though he hasn't done that for about two hours now.

On the fourteenth hour, he finally sits up. Unknowingly he looks horrendous. The blood has drained completely from his face, and his eyes are unfocussed surrounded by bruises. His glasses fell off, and he hasn't the energy to pick them back up.

It isn't calmness. It's more like nothing. No emotion, no intelligence.

He's aware of the things around him. Just like he's aware that the sweat on his body has dried into a strong and sour odour.

"Hey... you okay?" Harry's voice is soft.

If they were still children, Harry would probably attempt to hold him in some way.

Percy nods, and stands up. His legs are shaking and having fallen asleep are sending up mixed signals of pain and pleasure. Physically he can feel this, but somehow it's not connecting to his brain.

"...how much longer..." He's not even sure he got the words out, since he can't even hear them himself.

Harry eyes him carefully. "Not that much longer."

Percy stares at the grey walls, marking their blurriness. Somehow it registers in his mind that they've gotten closer, though intelligently he knows they haven't moved.

His stomach is hurting. If a stomach had a mind, and that mind was hurting, that would be what was happening in his stomach.

But a stomach doesn't have a mind. It is only an organ inside your body that processes food and potions. It doesn't have an intelligent thought in it.

He walks three feet from the rock he's been sitting on. He feels something crunch underneath his tailored shoe that has the outline a spectacle frame. He hears a muttered _'Reparo_' behind him, though none of it registers.

A part of him feels like he's in a nightmare. Though it feels more like a dream.

Percy very rarely dreams. Even as a child, he didn't dream that much. When it did happen, it was usually about school, and he always exercised the ability to promptly forget about it when he woke up.

As for nightmares, they never happened. For the most part he just laid awake at night.

He wants Harry to slap him across the face in order to wake him up. But of course this won't happen.

Harry is a part of this nightmare too.

When the greyness does disappear, Percy doesn't notice. He's been staring at the part of the ground that is connected to the greyness.

He doesn't notice when everyone starts talking and jostling and laughing, all the _noise_ that happens.

Nothing really connects.

Not when his daughter touches his arm and puts on his glasses, or when his mother starts cooing in his ear.

He doesn't notice when someone spells his clothes clean and tidies his attire.

He doesn't notice any of the looks that he's getting.

Nothing registers.

Somehow, Percy knows that he's contracted an illness.

He feels sick with a heavy stomach.

"Brown wants the proposal to go through the Minister's office before going to Pucey. She claims that Pucey will refuse to take it into a proper consideration unless signed by the Minister. However because it's so minor, Brown says that all she needs is the Minister's office to look at it, send it to Pucey and then to Administration." Percy's secretary is a young heavy set girl with firm features. Like a miniature McGonagall, it's hard to tell if she ever lets her hair loose.

Percy likes her. She is straight to the point and unyielding in Ministry protocols. She also takes on more than her job requires, and Percy is well known to give breaks to those he believes deserve them.

"Tell her to write a short abstract, and owl it to me. Send a memo to Pucey and tell him that the Minister is not Administration, also somehow emphasis that Sports does not constitute the Minister's office especially when it comes to regulating house-elf magic on a Quidditch field."

"Also Mr. Potter asked for a meeting this afternoon at two o'clock."

"Very well. Did he mention what it was for?"

"I told him to just see the Minister directly if it has to deal with Rirette. He declined and said he just needed to talk to you and not bother the Minister."

"Thank you, Ms. Nguyen."

"Of course, Mr. Weasley."

When she leaves, Percy draws a breath.

In the first two months after the Grey Bubble incident, Harry along with the rest of the family avoided him. At Kings Cross Station sending the kids off, Harry avoided looking at him and Ron jarringly said 'Hi' after Hermione tried to initiate contact.

Percy's sure that his mother has something to do with this new forced contact. After all, his mother has been sending him owls nonstop since August. It doesn't bother him, since no one brings up his strange behaviour that day. Though he's noticed in the office there's been new motivation on part of his staff to make sure he doesn't have a full inbox tray these days. He suspects that his mother has something to do with this as well.

By the time two o'clock comes around Percy's prepared for conversation that does talk about Rirette with dabs of personal conversation thrown in.

Harry pokes his head in first like a chicken looking around a corner.

"Take a seat Harry. Ms. Nguyen just brought some tea in."

"Haha, great worker you have there, Perce! Knows what just hits the spot." Harry jovially says, with a big grin.

In his head Percy sighs. It's going to be a long conversation.

"I've been reviewing the Rirette case, and really it's as I've said before, there's not set standard on how to deal with a Muggle who doesn't come into their Magic abilities until their adulthood. For the most part, if she's educates herself with the same standards as those applying to Auror program there shouldn't be a problem with getting her into the program."

"Yes, but she needs the French Ministry to approve and so far they've decided not to change her citizenship from the Muggle."

Percy outwardly sighs.

"The only solution is to offer her our Ministry's citizenship, though through the Ministry protocols and policies, there's really no way to offer her our citizenship based on the ground that she is not a British citizen; nor will the French Ministry at this point in time relinquish her Muggle citizenship." Rirette has been a bone in his backside for a while now. He keeps telling people, that though it is the Minister's office job to look into these things for review, the decision is for the Minister himself before being approved for the Wizenmagot. To bypass any of that the Head Auror may approve whomever they wish, while waiting the process."

Harry nods. Having clearly heard this before and as Percy begins to suspect, has already talked to Minister Shacklebolt.

"Is there anything that the Minister's Office can do right now?"

"We have contacted the French Ministry to tell them what we are doing, for now it is best that the French Ministry gets a hold of us."

"Ah... what would you say would happen?"

"... It's doubtful that she'll be trained as an Auror in Britain. More than likely, the French Ministry will want to keep her in their Auror program if they decide to do anything at all. After all it is a status-quo incident." Percy's hoping to keep this conversation quick and get back to his flat by four o'clock this evening. He sold the house about a week ago, though no one knows that yet.

"Are you coming for dinner on Friday? Ginny's cooking a roast and Fleur is bringing around the new baby." Percy supposes that Harry's never been one for delicacy. No one told him about the dinner on Friday.

"Unfortunately I have meeting with the new German ambassador." He doesn't.

"Oh? I thought we didn't deal with Muggle ambassadors?" Harry knows he's lying.

"We do. We have for about fourteen years now."

He likes his flat. He's kept most of the things that were in the house in a shrinked cabinet that he's stored under the storage closet.

It's a flat that is sparsely furnished with a simple kitchen table in the actual kitchen. There is sofa facing one book shelf and the fireplace. A small bathroom, a small bedroom and a storage closet.

All the necessities a middle-aged divorced man should need.

He has a feeling when his kids and his ex-wife find out that he sold the house and moved into a small flat that they won't see the practicality of it.

Not that it particularity bothers him.

Pragmatism is important to him, and is the foundation of his person.

On workdays he spends little time doing much of anything in his flat. Maybe some light reading, and answering owls that he deems important.

On Saturday`s he spends the day reworking some of the proposals from other offices. Though they, as he`s repeatedly told them, have nothing to do with the Minister`s office and should be sent to Administration and in some cases Finance.

On Sunday`s he lays in bed.

Every Sunday since August he`s laid in bed and despite the constant owls to go to the Burrow for brunch, he lays there.

Most of the time he just can`t do anything else.

It feels as though if he stands up to do anything else, his stomach will weigh him down to the floor. Like an the anchor of the First Year boats at Hogwarts, he can`t move. Sometimes he lays there and thinks of mundane things that make no sense. Other times he just lays there and doesn`t think at all.

On Sundays he knows how many holes are in the ceiling above him. On Monday morning he spells them away, but come Saturday night he spells them back.

He`s convinced, that it`ll be something that passes. Though what _it _is he`s not spending anytime analysing.

His father probably went through something similar at his age as well. No doubt his mother went through it too after Fred passed away.

He can recall how his mother wouldn`t get out of bed until the third month, when Hermione and Ron announced their engagement and Bill and Fleur had their first child. Every anniversary of Fred`s death, his mother takes a day off, and his father locks himself in his shed.

So it isn`t a feeling unique to him. It`s something felt by everyone at some point in his life, he`s sure. Though for the most part there`s probably a distinct reason behind it...

He blames his ex-wife.

After all, if she hadn`t left him, then perhaps this would have passed him without his awareness of what was happening.

Yet he lays there.

Every Sunday.

For the past four months.

When Christmas comes around, his children come home.

Only it`s a small bedroom flat, in a small bedroom flat like town.

"Dad, are you sure your OK?" Molly asks, though judging from the tightness of her mouth, she's holding back a different scathing comment.

Lucy's already said her bit; that she'll be staying at her grandmother's until they go see Audrey.

"You'll take my room." Seeing how this is not enough, he adds, "Both you and Lucy are at school for ten months out of the year. This is big enough for me. It may be a little small for all three of us, but the Floo is already connected to your grandmother's, and I've just had it connected to your mother's. So there shouldn't be any problem." The _you don't have to stay here _hangs in the air.

Molly sniffs, looking around.

While Lucy may be his wild child. Molly in a different sense can be termed as his problem child. She inherited, along with her height and red hair, his blunt self-righteousness. She makes at least one of her cousins cry a week with her scathing comments, though thankfully she attempts to soothe them with her rationale.

Both of his children are more like him than he'd like to admit. Stubborn as a rock, and unreasonable in their convictions.

"We're going to Grandma's tonight."

"Of course."

Molly is very like her namesake. Once she's made the decision, it is the final decision. This is perhaps her greatest character flaw.

Dinner, as expected is a loud affair. Lucy and Molly demand their grandparents attention, and as usual Roxanne and Fred are quiet to the side.

On his less generous days he used to think that Roxanne and Fred should be his children. Quiet and respectful, unlike Molly and Lucy. Though it is clear that this stems from a darker place of emotional detachment, perhaps due to their parent's consistent absence. Percy cannot remember a time in the last six years the two of them haven't been staying at the Burrow.

"Grandma, you should tell Dad... no reprimand Dad, for selling _my_ house." Lucy pouts.

Molly demands. Lucy pouts.

Roxanne and Fred are quiet and speak in whispers.

"She's right, sweetheart. You should have kept the house, maybe even rented it out... you never know what might happen." Molly senior says with that wistful look in her eye.

The kind of look that hopes he and Audrey will get back together. Or somehow he'll remarry.

"What's done is done, Mother." Percy states, never having had the patience to deal with the tone his mother's using.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees his father frown against a forkful of potato. But Arthur doesn't say anything. As usual.

Percy and his father are civil with each other. Amicable even. When each of his children were born Arthur hugged him and bought him a drink. When he become both the Senior Secretary and Undersecretary in the Minister's Office, he had tears in his eyes congratulating him.

But something's are just not easily repaired. If ever fully repaired at all.

"Yea, but _Dad_, it's so dingy. And where am I supposed to sleep? Mom and Daniel are too far away, and I don't want to spend all of winter or summer break away from my friends." Lucy barks.

"Be quiet Lucy! The whole world doesn't revolve around you!"

"Yea, it does **Molly**! Just like how you think the whole world revolves around you!"

It always takes Percy a little longer to adapt to the constant bickering between his daughters. When he looks at the other side of the table and sees Roxanne reading another sappy romance novel, and Fred hunched over with his hair in his eyes over his dinner plate, he wonders if there was ever a time where his daughters were that reserved.

"I'm glad I'm not staying with you, you're a heartless controlling **Bitch**!"

"_**LUCY**_!"

Percy can't help but hope that Molly will want to spend time with her own friends for the rest of the weekend.

"Is the Minister aware of the threats the Muggle world has been pitting against themselves? As well as the very _real _threat to the Magical World?" The reporter asks, with no doubt a scowl on his face that he believes makes him look professional. Though if you ask anyone else, it's the kind of a person suffering from painful constipation would make.

"The Minister is aware yes. But as I've stated many times before, the Ministry has a non-interference policy. Unless, the other side uses Magic, the Ministry will not interfere. If there is use of Magic by other Muggle forces to the British state, then the Auror Department have the right to use extreme discretion into the matter." This is the fourth press conference he's made in as many days. It doesn't really matter how clear he makes the Ministry's position, people are always trying find some contradiction.

"But Mr. Weasley, doesn't the Ministry have an obligation to protect the British state?"

"As I've stated before, the British Magic World is a nation-state within the British state. As the Ministry for Magic, we protect any threat to the state from _Magic_. We do not get involved in Muggle foreign affairs." Many of his responses the past week have been memorized, as no one seems to ask any differing questions.

"But the threat to the people..."

"Mr. Kovach, the Muggle World protects the Muggle people. The Magic World protects Magical people, as well as Magical creatures and beings. Obligation within the Ministry is not due to just the humans but to other peoples, creatures and beings who fall under our jurisdiction. This obligation includes any personal threat to them as well any form of exploitation. Unless there is a distinct threat to the British Magical World security or sovereignty, we will not interfere with the foreign affairs of Muggles. Now thank you for your time. If you have any more concerns, you may contact Patricia Kolesar, Head of Administration."

He's only just been back in his office for a short amount of time before feeling a dread, because his stomach is beginning to act up again...

Ms. Nguyen left some tea under a Warming Spell for him. She won't be in to see him for the rest of the day, nor will she say her customary _'good evening, Mr. Weasley'_. No doubt, he can feel it by the sunken feeling in his eyes, that she knows that he needs to be left alone. He vaguely recalls he was supposed to have three different meeting this afternoon.

By the time four o'clock comes around, he's forgotten about the three meetings he never had.

When the next owl from his mother comes he's in the grip of a debilitating stomach panic.

So he replies yes to dinner the on Thursday night. His parent's are leaving for holidays in Virgin Islands so his acceptance of this invitation won't result in continuous dinners.

When he dresses, he dresses in one of the Muggle suits that he keeps in reserve. He has to shrink parts of it, as it's been since nearly a year since he's had to wear any Muggle suits. He didn't think he'd lost any weight in the past year, but the evidence is clear, though he finds it strange that the lower part of his stomach is still as soft as it ever was.

He brushes his hair, spells it flat, spells away the dark bruises under his eyes, and lastly spells a faint flush spell to his face. Wiping at his chin, he leaves the few hairs that form around the edges of his jaw.

Arriving at the Muggle themed restaurant, he takes care to flatten any part of his jacket and insure that the line of his pants is flawless. He is always the most impeccable dressed, and perhaps Hermione is right about being too _'formal'_. Nevertheless, ever since this restaurant was created and became the staple restaurant of the Weasley's, he's worn his overpriced Muggle suits. Even when two toddlers left sticky handprints of questionable yellow on them.

"Haha! Really, well you're going to have to crack down on that one Ron! Sounds like a rule maker, trying to work at a shop that's supposed to _break_ the rules!" Charlie says thumping Ron on the back.

"I know, I know. I have no idea whose brilliant idea was to hire him. Merlin, the kid's suckin' the life right out of the place!"

Judging by the amount of noise coming through, Percy could just peek around the corner to find the curtained off designated Weasley room. Judging by the noise, he could just run off and no one would know he didn't come.

Alas, the overeager host is leading him into the room with a bounce unseemly in a man of his age.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley, everyone's been waiting for you to order." With a bow the short man wearing Muggle jeans and a shirt resembling that of a penguin suit that Percy once made the misfortune of purchasing, sweeps his arm dramatically when he opens the red velvet curtain.

"There you are! Perce! I'm bloody starvin'!" As usual Ron's the first to start drinking, and the first to get drunk.

He nods and kisses his sister-in-law on the cheek. He then checks that it really was Charlie talking to Ron, and makes a mental note to act as though he knew that Charlie was back in the country.

Bill is here without Fleur, because of her aversion to anything that didn't include a _connoisseur_. Harry and Ginny are also absent, he makes another mental note to start a conversation inquiring about their absence to Hermione. No doubt she'll give a long winded version of events.

"You and George still doing that charity thing? Mom was telling me that it had somethin' to do with some sor' of contest."

"No no. It's not really like a contest... well, ok I guess it is like a contest." Says Ron with a toothy grin. "We ask kids to send in an idea that they'd like for a toy, you know. And then what we make sellin' that toy we give to that _'Handsome Werewolf_'' thing." Percy's could bang his own head open with the amount he's heard about 'Handsome Werewolf'. He remembers a time when he was younger where werewolves weren't some handsome tragic love figure.

"Haha, kids these days. We sure weren't like that when we were young. Tougher, ain't that right Bill?" Bill laughs and nods his head. "Damned if we didn't make sure you youngin's weren't tough too." Charlie punctuates with a wringing of Ron's neck.

Percy turns his head and tries to engage in conversation with Hermione.

Who's having a deep conversation with his mother.

"I keep telling them that just because Centaurs and House-Elves are labelled as Magical Creatures, there's nothing between the two groups. I mean, House-Elves have and are more firmly engrained with us and in the past we've had so much success. But Centaurs are different; essentially they want nothing to do with any humans." Hermione has also been a bone in his side at the Ministry.

"Sweetheart I know that you think that it would help the RCMC, but as you said Centaurs don't want to have anything to do with the Ministry, getting one of them to agree to head the department might be just wishful thinking." Molly soothes.

Percy begins to drift in and out of attention. Sometimes recognizing that Arthur and Bill are talking about German goblin takeover of Gringotts and three affiliates. Other times jolting out of the haze with an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. Cold chills shiver up his spine and he feels a mist of greyness cloud his perception.

"Hey, where are you going?" Charlie calls after him as Ron talks to Arthur and Bill. "Perce? Perce?" All of them stop talking and stare at where he's standing.

For a moment he attempts to open his mouth.

But he feels himself just nod and lets his body walk him out into the main part of the restaurant, passed the crowded restaurant and to the Apparition Point. He thanks whoever could be held responsible that none of them could fight past the crowds to reach him. He also thanks whoever could be held responsible that he was able to heavily Ward his flat and turn off the Floo...

He spends the next three days getting bedsores.

Minister Shacklebolt tells him that he should take his vacation early.

He takes it in three weeks. The Minister tells him that it'll be a four week vacation.

He agrees.

When he gets out of the meeting, he realizes he didn't listen to a word that was said. In fact he vaguely remembers something that the Minister's Advisor's position is opening up as Feldman is retiring.

The Minister's Advisor, though a highly prestigious appointment, is less perhaps the least hands-on position in the Ministry. Shacklebolt is no doubt considering him considering his work as Senior and Undersecretary (the first to hold both in the past 60yrs) the past ten years. He would be the youngest Minister's Advisor to date.

If you asked his twenty one year old self he would say that the Minister's Advisor only last as long as the Minister himself.

If you ask his forty one year old self he would say that the Minster's Advisor should simply go to someone else. He's used to his job; he can go through cycles of constructive half-awake status with his job. His stomach has been too unstable for him to handle any more changes.

He sits through a painful meeting with Harry at noon. He declines the invitation for drinks and some dinner. He ignores that Tuesday Bill visits him in his office with the same invitation. Refusing to leave until a meeting with the newly formed Ethics board. Wednesday Harry comes, Wednesday Hermione comes, Wednesday Bill comes.

By Wednesday evening he's filing an early holidays dismissal form and delivers it Thursday morning to Minster Shacklebolt himself with apologies for not staying long enough to outline the department on what to do in his absence.

Thursday evening he has answered two owls that ask how he's feeling, and if his Floo connection is broken. He also thinks how impressive it is that he made such a good hire with Ms. Nguyen.

He doesn't leave his flat until he sees that the date is four days past what he thought it was.

Strangely, it has never occurred to him that he's never spend any time in the Muggle world.

When it was necessary, he did. He learnt what was normal clothing wear, what was proper mannerisms, the currency, the talking devices. He learnt that you smiled when someone mentioned an 'iphone' or the 'internet', as though you understood what they were talking about. He also learnt that you can't take offence at what may be deemed in his world as offensive.

So when blending into this strange place, he blends in relatively well.

He has to admit, he's forgotten the small town's name. Instead settling for naming it in his head as The Town, when referring to it at all. Farmer's fields surround it, and it's aging population is the most attractive aspect. And as he's discovered, the people around here are not privy to asking you where you come from, if they are privy to asking anything at all.

"Choose a herbal tea from the display right there sir, or you can look on the wall at the white, black and grey teas we have." She's probably not much older than Molly. Strikingly enough that it's distracting Percy, she has that strange Muggle metal contraption in her mouth.

Percy nods and looks at the wall for a tea.

In the end he just chooses an Earl Grey.

It's a small little shop. With only room enough for four tables, though it makes it difficult to manoeuvre around. The theme Percy decides is almost like his mother's mismatched house of his youth. All of the tea cups are different, the chairs and tables themselves are scuffed and worn out. The paint on the walls is peeling off.

Oddly, it calms Percy. His tea isn't very good, considering that the water is not hot enough. He's also grown accustomed to teabags, strangely enough.

But it calms him. Just like watching the spring shower outside the clean yet dusty window, calms him.

Somehow, it feels like time has stopped for this moment.

He feels as though if his children were to walk in through the door, he would cry in joy without needing to feel suffocated with it. He feels as though if his ex-wife were to walk in telling him she was getting remarried, he could sincerely give them his blessing. He feels as though if any of his extended family were to walk in and talk to him he would be able to keep up a conversation that has them all laughing.

Yet he's glad, because he knows, that though he feels like this now. If it were to happen, he wouldn't be able to act on the imagined feelings.

But as he sips his tea and stares at the light spring rain, he revels in this calm.

It was his idea to have the kids only a year apart.

Just as it was his idea three years ago to pressure Finances to cut spending in all departments to help build up revenue.

Judging by critics in the Prophet, this wasn't a popular decision. Especially now, that it's to light that the American Ministry for Magic and one-sixteenth of Europe's Ministry's for Magic have now begun to brace themselves for possible defence of their states.

At the time Percy thought that a five-year-cut plan was necessary for any future projects the Ministry might take up.

He never factored in a populous movement in favour of Magical assistance to Muggle militancy.

Nevertheless he rolls up the Prophet and resumes his quiet afternoon.

He takes at least one walk per day. He finds it helps not having nowhere to go.

He looks around himself without seeing anything. In a clouded greyness he views the world subjectively. Something that he's never had the ability for.

"Listen, if you want to talk to that kid yourself, go ahead. I'm losing my mind with him. He won't listen Dad! I'm at my hair's end!" A blonde-woman is talking to her aging father in the other line beside him at the Muggle food store. Where the blonde ends, the roots are entirely grey.

"He's just acting out. He's a boy. Let him be, and he'll grow out of it. Kids are just kids babe." One thing that Percy has noticed is that Muggles have no problem standing in a group of virtual strangers and laying their lives open.

He once heard some teenage girls talking about narcotics and where they could go to drink the liquor they nicked from their parents.

He's refused to have alcohol in his house since.

"Sir, that's £2." He's always strangely disquieted when he sees a man older than him working a Muggle service job.

Especially when said man has skin blotches on his wrinkled calloused hands, with a nametag that says _'Khaleed_'. He wants to take those hands and rub them back to youth, and get that man position in life that doesn't have him saying 'sir' to anyone his age or younger.

Percy nods and hands over the pieces of paper.

He's not entirely sure what he's carrying in his own plastic bag. He knew what it was from the package, and when he put it on the counter. But he's forgotten now that it's in the bag, and he can barely feel himself hold onto said bag.

He walks away from the food shop, in the opposite direction of his flat.

He walks carrying a plastic bag in the opposite direction until his knees and feet begin to protest.

After that he sits cross legged on the side of a dirt road, soaking in a heavy windy, spring rain.

A week before he goes back to work, his mother is standing outside his door.

He almost doesn't let her in.

However, Molly invites herself in, and makes herself busy with the cupboards and rifles through the plastic Muggle bag he hasn't unpacked.

"Oh Percy. You know that all that Muggle sugar food is unhealthy for you." Molly tuts, unshrinking the dishes she's made for him and putting them in the icebox that for some reason came with the flat.

Percy nods.

He's glad he put on a fresh pair clothes this morning. It's been about three or four days since he last did that.

Molly continues to putter around, sometimes throwing bits of conversation at Percy that he doesn't need to reply to.

A part of his heart slowly tries to break his ribs, seeing his mother's heavy set body move purposely. Her short red flyaway hair glinting from the morning light. He wants to wrap his arms around her and breathe in the scent that makes her his mother. He wants to shrink himself back to his four year old self and just be held by her arms. Allowing him to selfishly cry like all four year olds cry in the arms of their mother.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't do that. Because he's never done anything like that. He's a grown man, even when he was a child he was a grown man.

"I hope you're not busy today. Charlie's leaving back for Romania, so Ginny managed to get everyone tickets to the game tonight. Hugo and Lily are just too excited." Percy nods, knowing that he has no choice.

He used to enjoy Quidditch games when he was younger. He enjoyed them quite a bit. Lost his first girlfriend over a Quidditch game gamble.

Somehow, someway, at some time, he stopped enjoying it.

No reason. Just like how he started having an uncharacteristic craving for those Muggle caramel chocolates that Hermione and Ron gifted him every Christmas.

It's a loud and boisterous affair. Too many people.

He left to get refreshments fifteen minutes into the game. He has no idea whose playing, whether it's Ginny's team or whether she's coaching the same team she played on. He hides in the toilets for a good while before working out which line is better, and whether or not it's a good idea to get the kids Butter beers.

"Hey Perce! Hey I thought it was you! I could see all that red hair but I couldn't be for sure." A thump on his back that feels like it shatters in spine.

"Ah, yes. Nice to see you too Lee." Lee smiles that big characteristic smile of his. It still jars Percy when he meets Lee without his youthful dreadlocks. Some people seem like they'll stay forever young.

"Hmmh, hmmh, so how you enjoying the game? Falcon's finally up three to nothing."

Percy nods.

Today he's felt like his head is going to fall off, he's been nodding so much.

" Hey! You know, I know this might be a little too soon and all. But I gotta favour to ask." Not exactly words that Percy likes to hear. "I got my girl's sister coming around, and she's just gotten back on the market herself..." Definitely not words that Percy wants to listen to right now. "It don't have to be anything, you know just dinner as friends of friends sort of deal. So whaddya say?" Lee's toothy grin is a little too white to be natural.

Percy nods.

Until his head almost falls off.

Charlie hugs him goodbye after the nightcap he was ushered into at the Burrow. He can tell the kids are finally getting tired from the excitement of the day. His mother has convinced him to stay the night, claiming that his Floo is still turned off and it's too dark to Apparate. He doesn't have it in him to protest.

When Ginny sits by him and squeezes his knee saying that she understands that the divorce has left him extra tired, and she'll always be around if he ever wants to talk about it, he gives her a tight smile. Not bothering to correct her that he hasn't thought about the divorce like that.

When it becomes apparent that he's only good enough for one word conversations, his father sits quietly to the side talking about things he's working on in his shed. Charlie talks about what he did with the kids, and tells of the older kids wanting to revisit Romania. Harry, he's aware at some point in the night, attempts to talk to him about work, only to have his mother shush him and say, "No work talk, during holidays."

For the most part he sits there and visually focuses on nothing.

During the night he dozes off, only to wake up when no one is left around. He's had a quilt draped over him and a Warming spell on the mulled mead sitting on the candle stand by his elbow.

By morning, when his mother's awakened to start breakfast, he's already made it, and is heading off.

He leaves a note saying that he's going on a trip that he'd been meaning to take. He'll be back from it when he begins work.

He goes to a small Scottish isle. The kind that doesn't see many visitors. With high winds and rocky beaches, the Isle of Muck in Inner Hebrides, is ideal, the first secretary he had as Undersecretary to the Minister, was an old lady who told him about this cottage. Unplottable on the other side the of the island, the Muggle family that lives on the tiny thirteen house island has no idea about the cottage is rented out to as a Wizard holiday's home. Enjoyable, because the house replenishes supplies, and the visual delights of vast acres frame the edge of the island...

The quiet begins to get to him after three hours.

The inside of the house is warm, small enough for one person or a couple, with a connecting kitchen, living room and study. There is a soft calmness against the sanded down wood walls, while the rest of the house is full of mahogany. The sky outside is blue with picturesque clouds. The water is vast sparkling with whitecaps under the sun.

He begins to hate everything he sees around him. His head feels like it could implode on itself. The birds outside chattering to themselves, continue to chatter on even as he casts the strongest Silencing Charm he can.

He can hear the ocean waves crash together with thunderous bangs.

He can feel the scorching heat of the sun, and the ice cold snap of the wind.

The first thing he breaks is the exquisitely made antique kitchen table.

He didn't mean to break it. Or at least he didn't _mean_ to mean to break it.

After all it was a very fine piece of work, and no matter how convenient Tranfisguration Spells are, they can never fully replicate the perfection of a unbroken object.

He was sitting on one of the matching chairs, looking out the perfectly quaint sitting room window. Staring at all the perfect green and blue. When his elbow jerked slightly, he was suddenly bombarded by an old memory from his teenage years just after he turned seventeen. An unimportant memory of sitting in the reception room at his father's department in Muggle Artifacts waiting to be interviewed (he applied and was interviewed at all the departments; he was determined to have a job _no matter what_). The little end table that served as the tea-table had a leg the wrong side, forcing the table to wobble. So he fixed it, it was the first time outside of his parents house and school he had ever done magic...

This table didn't wobble.

But it was his act of imagining it wobbling that triggered it. He began to shake it. Then it occurred to him that it was wobbly, but somehow at the moment of trying to decide where it was wobbling, the table hid the wobbling. In an instant, he felt red hot frustration and then he felt ice cold rage.

After he broke the table with his bare hands, he went after the chairs, and then the curtains. It was only until he threw a glass figurines of famous seventeenth century Veela that he stopped. He stopped, and he felt himself cry.

On a beautiful day, in a beautiful place,

He cried.

Percy Weasley is a practical man.

Practical to a ho-hum. It is the reason he's liked as a professional, and the reason he's doubtlessly loved but not particularly liked by family and friends.

Sometimes he wondered if his wife ever liked him. After all, most women were not swooned by him. They liked him because he was a stable choice. No obvious faults. He wouldn't chase other girls, and probably wouldn't even look at them. He would have a influential career, if not a career with capital. He would be well liked by parents. He would get the right size ring, have the right kind of dinner parties. He would buy the right size house, with the right kind of garden.

He would do all the right things. Behave in exactly the right manner. He would say all the right things.

Now he's sure to say that his wife didn't much like him. No doubt, he was a practical choice. Just as for him, she was a practical choice. She probably was fond, maybe even loved him. Much like a person loves a favourite relative, but they were never _in love_. Not like the way he watched his parents. Yet, as a kid he was convinced it was because they loved each other so much that they never had a money. As an adult, he thought they were an anomaly, that people don't really fall in love like that.

He wonders if anyone would like him now.

Now that he thinks he did nothing right.

He thinks that he shouldn't have tried to be a prefect, head boy as a child. He should have just read his books and kept to himself. Now he thinks that he shouldn't have gotten a job at the Ministry, especially ones that were higher than his father's position. He should have just accepted the Potions apprenticeship. Now he thinks that he shouldn't have _chosen_ a wife, especially such an obvious choice. He should have just let it happen.

Right now, at this moment, with hands that have never seen a day's labour throbbing painfully, he feels deep in the core of his body that he was _wrong_. Everything that he thought was right, has turned out to be wrong. He could have been happy, if he had just been _right_.

If he had been right, then maybe he wouldn't be sitting alone in an isolated cottage, on such a loud and noisy island, in a mess of glass and broken wood.

Only now, he's beginning to wonder if there was ever a chance he could have chosen the right answer. If for something like this there is a way to chose a right answer. Especially if the result is the same? If he had chosen a career away from the Ministry, if he had chosen a woman who wasn't practical but somehow fit, if he hadn't ever broken relations with his family... would not everything have also fallen apart, at the same time, and the same place, in his lifetime?

His head hurts, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that crying would actually relieve the pressure. It only numbed it, the way you put a Numbing Charm on a sprained ankle. Before you take that trip to St. Mungo's.

If there is one thing, one thing he knows for sure about this. It is that there is no way he is stepping inside St. Mungo's for whatever this _is_.

It'll pass. It was bound to happen, it happens to everyone, and it doesn't last forever.

It'll pass.

He just needs to wade it out.

He only stays at the small cabin for four days before going to back to his apartment. He felt like he was losing himself somehow surrounded by nothing but ocean, grass and Muggles who had no idea he was there. When he steps back into his apartment he's seized with this dark feeling. The same feeling he felt when he broke that table and all those stupid Veela ornaments. He's angry, but there's no root cause for the anger. And because he knows this he spike of the anger elevates to a rage.

He begins to break everything he can get his bare hands on.

The cupboard doors are ripped clean off, and his left index finger has the whole nail ripped off. At some point he threw his fist through the wall, and the knuckles now have the skin scrapped right off. He actually blasts the sofa with his wand into a thousand little pieces, and breaks the bathroom mirror crushing some of the shards beneath his shoe and a couple pieces fly up to hit him in the face leaving tiny little cuts that barely bleed.

Once he calms down, he falls into the bathtub, bruising he's sure, his hip and a vast majority of his right leg. But he lays there sprawled and exhausted feeling all this anger drain his energy and he can't move his body, other than to breath.

Eventually he turns on the tap, though he just lets the water run down the drain.

But the feeling of his clothes getting heavier and suffocating uncomfortable, distract him from this even heavier and more uncomfortable feeling that's beginning to overwhelm him.

He can feel it in his bones.

He can feel it take control of his bones, turning them to mindless soulless mush, only existing to do it's bidding. If he allowed it, it would slowly turn his whole body, beginning with his feet into liquid, and he would slowly shrink into this liquid puddle that used to be his bones, flesh and body...if he allowed it, the liquid would evaporate and there would be no trace left of him.

His first day back to work is noteworthy, because of how many things have fallen apart in his absence.

There is a Muggle war going on that lobbyists in the Magical world have begun to divide sectors of Ministry into either supporting or condemning. There is an uproar from the Magical Creatures department because of the potential genocide of indigenous centaurs in South America. Suddenly the French government wants to investigate Britain without consent from the British Ministry for Magic into a well-known wealthy potion and charms experimenter who recently was able to set up a private lab in south east England. There also seems to be, in his stock pile of problems he needs to fix, a concerned parents' group who want it 'Handsome Werewolf' campaigns to have stricter code regulation following a recent trend in the rest of Europe for over promiscuity on behalf of the young male werewolves and teenage girls.

The reason that one does have other departments, like Administration, Auror, Finances, etcetera is because it is their duty to deal with these things. The Minister's Office for the most part is supposed to deal with the other Ministries, and to up keep the policies, as well as send off serious cases to the Wizenmagot.

"Ms. Nguyen, I'll need you to set up a meeting with the Magical Creatures department. Also arrange a dinner with Finance. Remind me who is supposed to be in charge of Administration?"

"Charles Strafford, sir."

"Ah yes, so it's safe to assume that Judy Bonavia is running it?" Ms. Nguyen allows herself a small wry smile.

"Yes, sir."

"In that case, arrange me a meeting for tomorrow with the Minister." He has an ability to take control of situations. "Also, arrange a press meeting for the Minister Friday morning." They may be situations related to his job, but somehow, despite this looming cloud over his head this control comforts him.

He's relieved when Ms. Nguyen leaves his office that she makes no comment or even glances at his swollen beaten hands.

He could have healed them, but somehow it makes holding onto control a little more simple.

Harry is storming around in his office on Wednesday after his dinner with Finance.

"No you can't do that Percy! This Muggle war—" Harry insists.

"— Is none of our concern." Percy finishes.

Harry finally turns around and slams his fist on Percy's desk, following is the spillage of his inkpot.

"This is a matter of security! Percy, the Muggles are serious this time. This time it is _Nuclear Warfare_!" Harry's face is scrunched up in that way he believes makes him look intimidating. Percy's hardly the kind to be easily intimidated.

"Our duty is to protect the Magical peoples and creatures of our world Harry. This includes centaurs."

"But to cut security by _forty five percent_?!" Harry rages.

"We are the only Ministry for Magic in a proper place to help defuse the loss of hundreds of thousands centaurs in South America—"

"What are you talking about the only **one**! Canada and the Americans have already set up refugee camps in the North!"

"Yes, that's true." Percy stops trying to reason with Harry. As it's clear that, those refugee camps are not for centaurs. No doubt the refugee camps will see a few centaurs, but it'll be for the trolls, dwarfs, merpeople and giants. But when it comes to the centaurs there's still a deep-set prejudice in the New World for those creatures, the last tribe of them were wiped out in the eighteenth century by the aboriginal groups in the Northern parts of the continent.

Of course there's is no having Harry see the reason in this.

"As you know Harry, nothing set in stone. It was a proposal, and if the Minister doesn't approve a different strategy will be enacted." Percy placates.

"Yeah. I've already talked to Kingsley, and he's told me that the _unspoken_ verdict goes to you. And seeing as how you already—" Harry spits.

"— Harry, I am the _Undersecretary _to the Minister for Magic! I am an employee of this office, I certainly do not run it." Percy feels that anger bubbling to the back of his throat. He pushes his glasses up feeling his cheeks stain with colour, "I would also more than _appreciate_, if you would not slander me inside my own office!" He sits down, picks up his quill feeling this ugly snarl engrain itself on his face as he sets about ripping apart yet another one of Pucey's proposal. He plans to stay like this until the other man leaves.

Harry's quiet before he says, "Sorry Perce. I didn't mean— I guess we all got a job to do around here, yeah?"

Percy ignores the apology, just as he ignores the eyes that are staring wide eyed and confused at the state of his still healing hands.

By the time his kids come home for summer holidays, Percy is relieved and looking forward to see them.

In the two weeks leading up to the holidays every day seemed to get better. Every weekend is filled with trying to diffuse situations that keep arising at work, by having dinner with diplomats and retouching base with the Muggle Prime Minister. Most of these dinners at the present time include Minister Shacklebolt, but Percy accompanies and between the two of them they manage to keep the Muggle end at bay.

His biggest worry is that there will be Magical involvement in the Muggle war soon, if not on the offensive than on the defensive. Part of that worry is that he's not entirely sure where Minister Shacklebolt sits in regards to it all. Right now the Muggles are saying that they don't want Magical involvement. _Right now_. But depending on where the wind turns, that'll change.

Of this any Magical involvement in the foreign affairs of Muggles will be an absolute disaster. If not catastrophic for the Magical world.

"Dad, Mum says that we can go over to her and Daniel's place on the twentieth. Okay? Then we'll come spend the last week before school with you." Lucy smiles, as Molly begins digging in her bag.

"Why did you bring _this_? I told you not to even buy it. It's a piece of garbage." Molly snarls holding up a figurine doll of the 'Handsome Werewolf'. Lucy snarls just as good, snatching it back.

"Stop going through my stuff! Merlin, I can't believe you can't respect _my privacy_!". Lucy screams, as she sees Molly flipping through a worn leather notebook.

Percy reaches over Molly's shoulder and takes the notebook. Sighing he puts it back into Lucy's suitcase, and tells Molly to get them some tea and grab some biscuits.

"Dad, how come none of the cupboards have doors?" Molly says.

"Lucy, how come that doll has no clothes on?"

"It does too! There are trousers. And it's not a doll!"

The entire summer break is dedicated to what he can do in the office, to what he can do with his teenage daughters. Meaning, he has too much time to think.

And he does. He thinks and thinks and thinks... he thinks it's not entirely truthful that he doesn't resent his wife. That it's becoming more and more apparent that he's beginning to resent the meddling of Harry and his other siblings. He's beginning to think that he's starting to lose his temper, all the hard work he's put into creating a calming facade when the anger builds like fire in his veins.

He has inherited his mother's easy and explosive anger. When he was younger it was harder to control, eventually leading to him spending being left alone by people he didn't want to leave him alone. By the time he met Audrey, he had it under control. By the time he was twenty-seven he was able to control bouts of anger and hide it under a cold sheet of calm under his skin.

If perhaps, he were to be home alone in his study for a couple of hours and the Muggle corner lamp his father bought him for Christmas happened to be repaired a few times... no matter he still had that anger under control.

Though patience is something he surprised himself and everyone else in the family in having when it came to his kids. He's never managed for very long to be angry at either one of his daughters, even as they fought with him every step of the way. When still babies, he would hold each of them for hours against his chest. As he held Lucy, there was this expectation that it wouldn't have the same wonder that Molly was in his arm, and yet each time, for each one, he felt like he was holding them for the first time.

In his arms, their tiny bodies were warm and pliant against his, that wonderful smell that only small infants seem to have... well, even in their adolescence, they understand that all it takes is a soft hug to him and they have him wrapped around their finger. Audrey is slightly more disciplined with them, and always has been. Not that they were very disciplined with Molly or Lucy, strong personalities attesting to this.

Though, Percy assumes that that isn't such a bad thing. After all, he came to accept that he wants his children to be free. Free to not be like anyone but themselves.

He may have been a little too liberal with his children.

But he thinks, now that he has the time to think, that perhaps that it is the one thing he got right. Percy can remember how he was in school with his brothers and sister, he can also see that now, none of it was wanted or appreciated.

And if perhaps in the evening he has to listen to the fights Molly and Lucy get into in his room, that's OK as well.

And if perhaps in the late night he wakes up to Molly sliding onto the sofa, her feet next to her torso, with a disgruntled mumble, "She's kicking me", that's also OK.

And if perhaps in the early morning, he wakes up to Lucy pouting in front of him, " I wanna sleep with you guys", and has to cast an Enlargement Charm on the sofa... that's OK too.

"Sir, as I'm sure you are aware, there is no way that British Ministry for Magic could endorse having another Ministry investigate within the British jurisdiction." Hermione says, staring at a rather tall man with dark hair and even darker eyes.

Percy's off to the side allowing Hermione to take the reins of this encounter. With the Prophet and other media outlets proclaiming him to be _real Ministry power_, it's more and more advisable to take a backseat in these sort of meetings. Not entirely without presence, but a less speaking role is advisable. It is also advisable to have the Ministry's Muggle-Born-Sweetheart in the picture as well.

"I understand sir. But as I'm sure you also understand, _International Relations _state that countries have the power to reject any foreign presence in their country." Hermione says, her voice going higher, body language tensing.

The tall man, has been for the most part glancing repeatedly at Percy.

It's a dinner, like most of these so-called _informal _meetings are. Percy's here, because the request from the French Ministry was for him, but Hermione is the one talking because of the media hounds that are beginning to plague every aspect of the Ministry.

When he was in the beginning of his career, Percy was enchanted by the thought of having dinners like this. Enchanted by the idea that he would be as important as all this makes him out to be.

Unfortunately, staring impassively at the two dinner companions who are both glancing at him for some sort of strict authority, he finds that he not enchanted. Instead he smiles that frozen smile he's perfected for the journalists that have no doubt used various means to penetrate the room, and acknowledges the promise held in the dark man's eyes for a more private, and more definitive meeting at a later date. He listens through his left ear at Hermione, who like the nattering that Harry goes off on in his office, says all the right things.

"Of course we will work _with_ the French Ministry to investigate in our jurisdiction. If our Auror departments heads could meet..."

When his children leave for their mother's, Percy is left in a flat that once again is just the right size. His room still smells of a subtle sweet citrus smell that Molly favours. Lucy has left some of her magazines in his closet, along with a sizable amount of school books that neither of the girls want to get rid of. All over the flat, there are traces of his daughters, figurines, and pictures. There are cups in the cupboards, that he knows won't be used by anyone else but them.

Somehow, this invasion on his space, gives him a strange sense of mind.

It also keeps reminding him to install two other bedrooms.

"Of course Mr. Weasley, you'd do much better to expand with a permanent spell rather than the regular temporary ones." Says an ambiguously dressed salesmen. "It's hard in these highly populated Muggle areas. They can _sense_ something going on, haha." Bright smile and promises to owl a copy of the design to him, Percy still can't figure out the gender of the person.

Though in this day and time, they might be the new 'unclassified'.

The hardest part comes after, when his daughter's are still gone with a careless neglect of him.

He feels like getting an outrageously priced bottle of Crystal Fire whiskey. Although the fact he doesn't have a leaning towards alcohol.

He feels like smoking a cigar from the box that the Minister for Magic in Cuba once gifted him. Despite he's never smoked anything at any point in his life.

Of course this is the worst of times for him. In the summer months, the Ministry dies down, and whatever pressing matters there are have nothing to do with the Minister's Office. If he encourages departments to send issues, he'll have to repeat that horrendous year that probably ended his marriage.

If he took a page out of former Finance Department Zabini's book he could become a drug addict, throwing in some espionage dealings. It would catch his daughter's attention. Mind you, he would also would spend the rest of his natural life in Azkaban fighting off the over-eager (and wasn't that a public relations scandal) guards.

Instead he sets up a reading list of "Muggle History in Regards to Political Regimes". He's been meaning to do it since he was a young man. He never found the time after Hogwarts, but he did make note that many of the philosophers in Muggle society had focussed heavily on politics. He glanced through Mills once while visiting his first girlfriend's parents house. Her father attempted to lecture him on the archaic nature of the legal system in the Magical world. He didn't quite get in then, and he doesn't see it now.

Nevertheless, he is interested in the amount of study by the older generations of Muggle philosophers.

"As I keep telling the Minister himself, there is little the Ministry may provide in ways of aid to the Muggle conflict." Addressing an entire Auror division was a strategy that his brother-in-law no doubt got from Ron. Which will backfire spectacularly, as this is an issue that Percy will not back down from.

"As the Minister has expressed numerous times his desire for the conflict to end peacefully, ultimately we cannot risk any involvement. This does not go for other Ministry's - so if you believe it is your duty, by birthright or whatever reason you may have - The Ministry for Magic of Britain will stand by your decision to join forces with any nation that has decided to aid the Muggle conflict."

Percy can feel Harry's eyes burn a hole in the back of his head.

Back at his office he tells Ms. Nguyen that there is no interruption, no memos and no comment to the press from the Minister's Office.

Later as he reads through the Finance Department's yearly budget plans, his office door bangs open.

"What are you playing at?! In front of the entire Auror division - telling them to leave the country?!"

"I didn't tell them to leave the country, Harry. I told them if they feel they have just cause to join the conflict, then they may join another jurisdiction to fight for it." Percy slips the papers in the top drawer of his desk as he stands up to go around his desk.

Opening a side cabinet he offers Harry a tumbler. It's declined but that doesn't stop Percy from pouring himself one.

"Harry - sit down please. I'll explain my reasons as best I can." Percy says leaning against the edge of his desk as Harry reluctantly takes a seat.

"It's a war. People are going to go into hysterics. Nuclear war is nothing compared to even _**Voldemort**_!"

"I understand Harry. You probably never knew but I worked for the Muggle Prime Minister's Office the year after you defeated the Dark Lord." A punishment, though no one ever stated it, for not leaving the Ministry even after the Death Eaters took charge. "I know more about modern Muggle warfare than most of the people in the Ministry." He stares heavily at Harry trying to gauge any negative reaction to his words.

"This - War - has happened before." Percy clears his throat as he sees Harry's lips barely twist. "Let me correct that - it has attempted to happen before. And in every single one since the Inquisitions' no Magical body of law has allowed itself to be drawn in. And the reason for that is merely because Magic is a weapon." Percy reaches a hand to Harry's shoulder, knowing the touch will startle the other man.

"We isolate ourselves to protect us - the entire Magical World and every living Creature in it - Muggles fear us in the same way they fear each other. If one of them has a knife, the other would panic and get a bigger, better weapon. The will and desire to defend oneself in the Muggle World is more prevalent than in ours. We are taught reciprocity young, surrounded by people who have the same ability as you, who have the same weaponry, if you will. Regardless of how wealthy, race, sex or creed, in our world we all have the same ability to do both harm and good.

The Muggle World has never had that. It made them murderous to our World in the past. And now, with all the advances they've made ahead of us in terms of their technology, it makes them dangerous. If they could weaponize our abilities they will."

"Perce... Nuclear War -"

"Do you know how many lives were lost in the Magical World in the great Muggle Wars in the 20th century?"

"... Perce, that -"

"In conflict none. In experimentation camps, in camps around the world, we can count amongst them the last of the House Elves in South America. Documentation of experiments where the portion of 'horse' and 'man' were separated from several different Centaurs in Nanking after the Japanese war machine was dismantled. The cusp of all the experimentations after that happened in Japan after the Nuclear bombs were dropped there, all the undocumented camp occupants were relocated there, the idea being the radiation would allow some flexibility in the physical body of the experiments. If you'd like I can get a hold of these documents, though the detail is rather... well, there are reasons there are limited copies and _**very**_ limited access."

Percy leans closer to the other man, cataloging the uneasy expression.

"Do you understand when I say that we have to ensure the survival of our World? You've done your part to help remind people we protect Muggles. Can you do the part of silently protecting our World? I trust you understand why this is a closed topic. We can only rely on our isolation to protect both parties. And if other Ministry's do decide to enter the conflict, we offer an open door to those wishing to flee. I'll tell you now, there will be _few_ and _none_ of the significant that will enter, no one will hear of the sacrifices of individuals. Anyone entering those countries will most likely never be let out.

I hope as Head Auror, you will do your very best to dissuade any under your command from whatever they believe is their just cause. This is how we must protect, we live in the most peaceful times our Magical World has ever seen, and now is the time for you to decide, Harry, if it'll stay that way."

It's November when he's sitting with his youngest daughter crying in his lap.

When her hiccups recede he eases up on the tight hold he has on her.

"... Lucy, baby..." He can't quite articulate himself, the shock still has him frozen.

He daughter, is pregnant. His thirteen-year-old daughter is pregnant.

He feels conflicted with rage and this thing that makes him feel so _tired_.

"_Dad... Dad, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry_."

He knows he should be screaming at his ex-wife. It had to have been on her watch that this happened. After all, she and that _**Daniel**_ were in Italy. He knows the moment when they arrive he'll have his control stripped away.

Lucy.

HIs hellion. The one that has always caused him the most problems, just like Fred and George did when they were young.

He should have known the moment he came home to find Lucy alone in the flat, having somehow gotten there without any supervision from Hogwarts or her mother. He should have known when Molly's letters spoke of Lucy feeling sick.

Molly.

Out of the two of them, she's most like him. Rational to a fault, though without the temperament. There's no doubt in his mind that she was the one who found out before Lucy, and the uncharacteristic letters were meant for this moment.

He finds his arms tightening again, and his eyes are beginning to heat.

He wants to cry just as loudly as Lucy had been. He wants to beat the living shite out of whoever touched his baby.

"I'm not going to get angry at you. I refuse to." His rage has grown cold. Lucy sleeps heavily in the next room from the Sleeping Potion he had been saving.

His attention is focussed on the woman in front of him. "You _are_ however, going to tell me _who_ did this."

The anger comes back in tenfold. He's already broken the teapot, and the urge to break all the teacups hasn't left.

"Percy, I - "

"Fuck! Fuck you!" Audrey flinches, and Daniel's left arm goes around her glaring daggers.

"It isn't Audrey's fault - "

"How isn't it her fault, huh? Who the fuck is the mother, and who the fuck is the child?" Percy snarls, his body shaking. "She's a fucking child! She doesn't know -

You think I'm stupid. Is that how it is? Do you not think I don't know how you probably told your _thirteen-year-old daughter_, how when she found someone who makes her feel like you feel with your _lover_ then who cares about "social convention"?!" Cold sweat gathers on his back and he can feel the muscles in his arm tense. "How you must have justified being a divorced woman gallivanting around with your _lover_, with the thrills a woman like you should have."

"Hey! I'd watch your tone - "

"Did you ever think, for one fuckin' second, for one fuckin' tiny bit of reason... 'Oh, maybe an impressionable _**child**_ would get confused between adulthood and virginity?' Huh? Did that every cross that poor fucking excuse of a mind?!"

Percy drops to the chair exhausted, his lips trembling against the rim of his teacup.

"What kind of a mother forgets about her children?"

He ignores Audrey's cries.

Percy believes in hard love, though he's never been a very good practitioner when it comes to his children.

With his youngest daughter pregnant, he decides now is the time, to set an example for both parents and children. Mostly in the back of his mind he has Roxanne and Fredrick (absentee parents). Audrey tried to argue that Lucy should have it taken care of, attempting to convince Lucy.

"_No. She's too young. She'll have the child and if need be, I'll take responsibility._" In the back of his mind, he understands he's surrounding the photo shoot of Handsome Werewolf, and what may have taken place.

He won't stand anyone to take away his first grandchild, and he won't let anyone get away with doing this to another child.

So it is with hard love that Percy publically announces his daughter's pregnancy and his personal campaign for reform on the sexual education as well as formalizing the legal age of consent.

If he can't get the man who did this to his daughter, he'll do everything to make sure he won't see the light of day if he does it again.

He gives Lucy the choice to stay with him or go to his mother's.

He knew what her choice would be.

"I'm not mad at you. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I know Dad. I know."

"I don't expect you to understand, but me doing this is important."

"I understand."

Percy sighs, his thumb rubbing over Lucy's unblemished cheek. "You'll probably hate me after. But that's okay. Really, that's okay." His daughter says nothing and holds his hand against her face tightly.

"You plan to use the budget-cut for the relocation of Centaurs." Harry states without breaking eye-contact.

"Yes." Percy says evenly.

"Was Lucy also your idea?"

Later, Percy will congratulate himself on his control.

"It will divert attention away from the Ministry."

"Hmph, thought of everything have you?" Harry leans back in what has become his chair.

"Preventing teenage pregnancies, and penalizing pedophilia is also a just cause. As a father of a teenage daughter I'm sure you can agree."

"Suppose I can."

Percy bends his head to watch Harry over the edge of his glasses. He's switched back to the old-horn rims.

"Are you offering me your confidence?"

Harry smiles an awful little smile.

"Suppose I have to, after all you are the _Ministry_."

"There will need to be weekly visits, but she's in perfect health so there is very little to be concerned with." The Healer says, her aging face professional.

Percy nods shortly.

"When is the delivery?"

"The 28th of April. Approximately we can book it for then but given her age it's a little uncertain that the date will withstand. The younger the mother the more erratic the body behaves toward a child."

It gives him five months to prepare. He's already hired private tutors for Lucy, and has informed her that she's expected to go back to school regularly in September. They'll have conflicts afterwards but for now it seems like common ground. Molly's already beginning to show stubbornness to be with Lucy.

"And the father?"

"Your daughter has expressed a desire to keep that private." Tight lips of disapproval.

He begins to auction off duties to Administration, sending the workload to Judy Bonavia. He's learnt in the last twenty years the best way to see that the work gets done is more simply a reminder that the Minister's Office does notice who gets the work done. In Finance he finds that budget-cuts that he's advised are enacted at a fast pace. In the Magical Creatures Department the petition for refugee status of South American Centaurs has been drafted for Finance and Administration before Christmas, with no doubt of approval before the New Year.

If only he could get the Head Auror out of his office and doing his duty.

"Rirette flirts with my Head of Cadets."

"She's French. That's what they do."

"Still," Harry kicks his desk as he crosses one leg over the other, "I can't help but think it's another one of your schemes."

"I don't _scheme_." Harry laughs, just like the awful smile this laugh seems to be reserved for Percy.

"Yeah, just like you wouldn't _purposefully_ approve a Muggle-turned-Witch with a hushed up affair with the Minister of France, into an _impressionable_ Auror program. Just so you know, Ginny and me are still going strong." Percy scrunches up his nose.

"I have no desire to hear about my sister's sex life."

"So you don't deny it?"

"You'll find Harry, that I'm not this procurer of wills that you make me out to be. Rirette was supposed to be _your_ domain. As Head of the Auror Department, you were supposed to see to the matter. By negating it, I was forced into an uncomfortable luncheon with an International Relations issue." Percy stares right back "I'm sure my sister-in-law informed you what was said, though no doubt she missed the underlying compromise. We allow Rirette in, while the French Minister steps down and I'm sure the memo will get to you in a week for a warrant to search a small house in the countryside of Surrey for any illegal Magical activity."

The other man stops smirking.

"My advice is for you to send in your second-in-command with a team including Cadet Rirette. You were not meant to know about it after all, as a result of you neglecting to do your paperwork."

"What a political scandal that would be, huh?" Harry snarls.

"I suppose it would be. Had I not done the Head Auror's paperwork for him."

"_Filed it_, did you?"

Percy gives Harry his own version of that awful smile.

Having both his daughters constantly bickering grates on his nerves. He finally sends the hormonal Lucy and suddenly mothering Molly to his mother's for the weekend.

The peace and quiet is short lived with an impromptu trip to Brazil.

Unofficial and necessary, the Minister doesn't need to know about the trip and off the record meetings are guarded with severe secrecy.

By the time he's arrived back Sunday morning, he's exhausted, sleeping by the time his daughter's come home with Harry in tow.

"Dad - Uncle Harry wants to talk to you about work." Lucy shakes his shoulder to wake him up. She's been more aggressive with him, probably trying to make sure nothing changes between the two of them.

"Nnhm. I'm sleeping, go away." Never a morning person, it's worse when he's woken up.

Lucy lets out a giggle.

" - Dad - Get up! Me and Molly will make supper, your favourite!" He doesn't even have a favourite supper.

"Later. Go away." He doesn't even bother to open an eye. Instead turns his head into the pillow, he can't really breathe but if it worked when Lucy was five it could reasonably work now.

"If we make enough noise he'll be up in fifteen minutes, Uncle." He hears Lucy say through the pillow.

It's true that fifteen minutes later, he's sitting at the table with a coffee he doesn't even like, blinking slowly through red eyes. Hair all over the place, careless of the picture he presents to the dark-haired man. Who looks vaguely amused?

"Did you sleep all weekend?" Harry asks.

"Dad always sleeps when he's not working." Lucy answers.

"Where's Molly?" Last time Lucy tried to cook without Molly, he came home to pitch black clouds.

"Grandma's giving her food for us." Lucy says.

"I thought you said _you_ would be cooking supper." Percy says.

"Yeah. You have a Muggle microwave Dad. It warms food up." Lucy says her eyes rolling.

"Do you know how to use it?" Percy drawls.

"No. Uncle Harry does though. Which is why I said me and Molly were making you supper." Lucy blankly states.

Percy narrows his eyes, his nose scrunching up against the bottom of his glasses.

"So what you're saying is that I got up for a supper my _thirteen-year-old_ - what is the expression - _**preggers**__ daughter_ isn't actually cooking?"

"- Dad!- "

"What? You're not a baby with a baby? Huh, well, with all these falsehoods, I'm not going back to bed. Don't bother me."

"... I hate it when you're grumpy." Lucy hiccups.

By Monday he's been lectured to high earths by the his oldest daughters on the proper care of a delicate Lucy. He agrees to take both of them out to a nice lunch. Though he's a little swamped with all the extra work he's given himself. Having decided to spearhead the sexual education and age of consent requires more of his attention then he can give it.

"Ms. Nguyen, send a memo to Minister Shacklebolt, tell him that I would like an informed meeting with the Wizenmagot."

"Should I also ask him to be there?" Percy nods.

A press statement from the Minister with an expressed desire for the formalization of age of consent will have better results than those campaigns Percy's sister-in-law endorses so.

As for sexual education, Percy merely has to give his face as a concerned parent against teenage pregnancy. Give the details to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts and notify the Head Healer at St. Mungo's of mandatory sexual education. Teenagers, young adults; unwanted pregnancies are preventable is the message. Because Percy could never hope to keep his daughter's pregnancy hush, he didn't want to express a favour for abortion. Prevention, ultimately less harmful. Whether or not it'll work in his family is not the same. Utilitarian to a fault, he hopes if everything evens out, by the time the birth happens he can take time off and maybe even actively apply for the Minister's Advisor's position.

He feels a hungry desire to see that his first grandchild's - that may be his only grandchild when all is said and done - first years are attentive.

He tells Harry this, who shakes his head.

"I thought you wanted to _be_ the Minister?"

For this meeting they've decided on a Muggle bar. One of those high windowed, and little space affairs.

Percy frowns, "Minister's come and go. Typically so do their Advisors. They're mostly figureheads, the celebrity light of the Ministry." Harry laughs.

"Why would you want to be an Advisor then? You'd still one day get elected to the Wizenmagot in the Minister's Office." Harry says.

"Ideally it would allow me the free time I need. And when the next Minister's election happens the flexibility to step down and resume a different position." Percy states.

"Huh. Think of everything don't you?"

"Do you begrudge everyone who does?"

Harry looks at him, "I still think you're wrong about the Muggle conflict."

"And I still think you should accept that it's a closed issue." Percy salutes.

"People are going to die." Harry says.

"People are always going to die. It's better to try and keep the numbers down."

He's tired and drawn out by Christmas. For the holidays his daughters have decided to go see their mother.

He spends Christmas eve and Christmas day in covert meetings with the French Ministry, setting up refugee encampments on magically built islands outside Brittany. Britain's Ministry will fund most of it, but France's Ministry will take the press coverage. The islands will need to be built before any finalization. Brazil has agreed to give the Centaurs refugee's a Portkey Relocation.

When he arrives on Boxing Day, it's to a few plates of food underneath a Warming Spell.

He sleeps until his daughters come back, with the news that Audrey is moving back to the country. Conveniently not far from his flat. He tries not to react. After all they both have a right to a mother, and she's not a particularly bad one.

"So then what?" Harry asks. Lounging in his office as is becoming the norm.

"... what do you mean '_then what?_'" He's overtired and doesn't feel like playing these games.

Harry swings his body into his chair as though he were once again a young man.

"It's already February and you made all your preparations before January. What happens next?"

Percy sighs, "I don't know why you won't let go of this idea that I premeditate _everything_. Things fall into place when they do. You act when things happen, doing it afterwards or before is pointless."

"I think my wife is cheating on me." Harry says.

Percy pinches the bridge of his nose, "I've _**told **_you I don't need to hear about this."

"You also _knew_ something was going to happen." Harry accuses.

Blankly staring at the other man, "If I recall, I mentioned that humiliatingly rejecting Rirette would in inadvisable."

"Yeah, well you politicians have a funny way with words."

He puts in a nomination for Ms. Nguyen as his replacement, as Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. He has no doubt it'll be approved and seeing as how the other nomination for the Seniorsecretary doubtlessly will go to Charles Strafford of Administration, the higher ups will want a nominee that will get the work done. Seeing as how Percy has been both the acting Undersecretary - the office title he keeps - and Seniorsecretary, his nomination will have a _very _competent Ms. Nguyen at the helm.

When Harry asks him if he's prepping _him _to be the Minister for Magic, Percy laughs in his face.

"You?! - No no, you'd roll over in your grave before you'd want to be the Minister." Harry offers him his own tired smile, newly etched lines on the corner of his mouth.

"So you don't think I have what it takes?" Percy looks hard at Harry, hunched over and his stomach clenches.

Apparently he was right that everyone goes through that - strange state - stage of their life. Harry has told him about the confrontation with Ginny that has so far not ended in divorce but an open marriage. Or it would had Harry been agreeable. Instead a marriage counsellor and an adamant Ginny that being able to see other people would _help _their relationship.

"_How could it __**help**__?! I didn't even know we were having any problem!_"

"The Minister for Magic doesn't get anything done. This is why you have the Minister's Office that essentially runs things. I didn't know that when I was younger, but now I do. Minister's play the role of a talking piece for us in the Minister's Office, he's our voice in front of the people and the Wizenmagot. The same as Muggles, despite whatever Hermione may tell you." Percy says.

Harry doesn't look consoled. However he begins to dine at the flat with him regardless of whether the girls are there or not.

When March comes, it comes with a bang.

He's gets a covert memo of the "Sudden Relocation of South American Centaurs to French Waters", followed by three apprehended men and a woman in a "Half-Blood Orphan Child Prostitution Ring."

He thanks Harry for the latter memo. Though he doesn't enjoy the press conference he has to make the next afternoon. Tiring and tedious, but it does divert from the Centaurs and the accelerating Muggle conflict aggression.

He finds that he enjoys sorting through the chaos. Minister Shacklebolt informs him that he may take three months paid leave starting in April and then resume the position as Minister's Advisor.

On the side he deals with a worn thin Harry, who unlike him, _needs_ to talk about his new affliction.

"I just don't get why she's doing _this_... out of nowhere, it doesn't make sense. We had problems before the kids were born but... now it's... like it's not a problem."

"Things change after the children aren't home. I found that Audrey and I stopped having things to talk about without the girls."

"Yeah, but. I dunno, Ginny and I were always friends."

"Marriage is a partnership, typically it's a friendship where boundaries fade."

"... she says she doesn't want a divorce. She still loves me."

"Do you love her?"

"... yeah... yeah I fuckin' do."

"Do you love her enough to accept this?"

"... I dunno... honestly, I don't."

"Trial Separate. It may force her to re-evaluate her stance."

"And if she doesn't?"

"You wouldn't be the first couple to divorce."

The moment he holds first grandchild in his arms, he feels his heart swell. It pounds in his chest like it'll explode, he doesn't even bother to hide his tears. He walks around with the tiny creature in his arms. His right hand stretched out on the heated curled up spine as his left arm props up the tiny bottom.

His youngest daughter is sleeping off her exhaustion and all the others have already left and gone.

He should perhaps feel more possessive that he was the last in a long line to hold his first grandchild.

Instead he feels humbled, as he knows this feeling he gets from holding this creature in his arms was the very thing he needed in order to let the sickness pass. He wishes he could articulate in some way to Harry what he means by finding this sort of contentment.

He's not happy, but he's not angry. He's a middle-aged divorced man with a career he neither likes nor dislikes. He has a grandchild whose beginning existence he's unsure was a good choice. And a future, that for the first time since he was fresh from school, he cannot control.

He feels exhausted, because the past two years have been exhausting. The end of his marriage hallmarked a change in him that he's beginning to hop that Harry doesn't need to go through. When you build a life together with someone, you expect to spend your entire life with them. When his partnership broke, it was like having analyzed all the personality traits he harnessed, every plan that he'd made was made obsolete. He can't remember the things he had planned before Audrey suggested the separation.

Despite what Harry might think he doesn't plan out the details of life. What he does is take the opportunities as they present themselves and allow the details to present themselves in due time. He's meant for an unfazed life, where there are unexpected things and no surprises. Taking the next few years and allowing himself to be ruled by his children and grandchild, may be the best of ways to allow him to refocus.

He'll be an old man soon.

Without a doubt one of those old men whose counsel is sought, and his purpose then will be more defined. For now, he'll have to be content to counsel the newly appointed Undersecretary, and a middle aged Head Auror.


End file.
